Broken (Fire)heart
by Scribomaniac
Summary: After Aelin is taken by Maeve, Rowan comes to rescue her. What he finds, however, shakes him to his very core. He never could have prepared himself for this.
1. Chapter 1

"Aelin!" Rowan roared over the deafening sounds of a battle raging around him. She was close. So close. Just a few more steps and she'd be within arms reach. Aelin. His queen, his mate, his _wife_. Aelin. It'd been months since Maeve had taken her. Months since he'd looked upon her face, breathed in her scent, held her in his arms. "Aelin!" He screamed again, letting her know he was coming. So close. Her scent was faint, but it was there—muffled by the terrible iron sarcophagus Maeve had forged to trap her. Aelin, Heir of Fire, trapped in the dark. Using all the power in his legs to propel him forward. No longer, he thought as he reached the box. No longer would the Queen of Terrasen be locked away. Drawing his daggers, the white haired Fae lashed out at the chains criss-crossed over the sarcophagus with all his centuries old strength, relishing the clinking sound they made as the links broke apart and fell to the ground.

His fingers, bloody and torn from the numerous fights it took to get him here, searched frantically for the seam in the two halves of Aelin's cage. Quickly, he found the crease of the lid and pulled, prying it open and releasing it's prisoner. Rowan didn't know what he would find when he finally laid his green eyes upon his wife again. He hadn't thought about it. He couldn't. Rowan couldn't imagine what Aelin had been through these past months. He wouldn't. He knew if he had tried, he's have gone insane with worry, lashed out at those around him, and self destructed. He knew he couldn't do that, so he refused to think of what Maeve had done to his mate. Of what Aelin had gone through. He thought that had been the best option—the smarter option—and perhaps it had been, for his sanity, but as he looked at his wife he realized his mistake. He hadn't prepared himself.

Rowan had seen her vomit, he'd seen her wet herself, seen her curl upon herself in body shattering sobs, but he'd never seen this. She'd been left to rot. Aelin laid before him, covered in her own sick and filth. Her breaths came out in short, shallow gasps and the muscles in her hands spasmed and twitched in a constant state of fear and defense. She'd tried to lay on her side as best she could, given the minimal space of the iron sarcophagus, and her back—gods, her back. A sound escaped Rowan's throat, somewhere between a whine and a sob, as his green eyes looked over gnarled flesh that had once been Aelin's back. This was Cairn's doing, Rowan was sure of it. Only that despicable, apathetic piece of shit could be responsible for this carnage. This went beyond whipping, beyond mutilation. The skin of Aelin's back was gone. Red welts upon red welts replaced what had once been white skin and black tattoo. Aelin's tattoo. All that was left was the red layer of muscle and burned edges from where Aelin's back had made contact with the iron, and what hadn't been burned swelled with infection. Red, angry lines extended away from her back, over her shoulders and around her torso, supporting his theory. Rowan wanted to reach out, wanted to give his mate some relief from this unending torture, but knew he couldn't. He could heal battle wounds, but this … this was more. This was ever lasting. He didn't know if it'd ever heal completely, even with Aelin's Fae heritage. Gods, he swore, Maeve would pay for this.

"Aelin," he croaked. He didn't know what to say, but as tears welled up behind his eyes, the Fae male found he couldn't stop talking, "Aelin," he said. "I'm so sorry," he wailed, his shoulders shaking as he tried to stop the tears from spilling over. He was a soldier. The King consort of Terrasen. He needed to be strong for his country—for his queen. Still, he lamented, "Aelin, fireheart—I'm so—I'm so sorry." He needed to move. He needed to get her out of harm's way. The battle behind them was getting closer, and it was only a matter of time before Maeve descended upon them. "Gods, I'm sorry for this," he whispered before lifting her up and out of the sarcophagus. She was light—too light—and Rowan stumbled before acclimating to her new weight. One of his arms was under her knees and the other under her neck as he tried to spare her back any more pain.

Rowan ran. He ran with the wind beneath his feet and the sound of metal clashing against metal in his ears. He wouldn't let himself get distracted, though. He needed to stay focused. He needed to get Aelin to safety. The battle, and the people raging it, would come later. Aelin came first—she always came first. A body fell in front of him, the body of a deceased foe, and Rowan came to a sharp halt before propelling himself over the broken form. The jump jostled his hold on Aelin and she hissed in pain, her back arching up, as the cloth covering his forearm rubbed against her raw back. "Sorry!" He apologized distractedly, readjusting his hold before continuing his escape. Aelin's head wobbled dangerously and her mouth fell open. Glancing down, Rowan frowned, thinking about all the noise around them, his calls to her, the pain in her back—why hadn't she woken up? Shaking his head, Rowan clenched his jaw and continued on. Those were thoughts for later. Much later.

Gusts of wind kept enemies away as Rowan ran through the battle until finally the end was in sight. He was close. _So close_. He just needed to run a few more yards and they'd be free of the horrors behind them. Just a few more feet, just a few more—Rowan felt something whip around his ankle, yanking him to the ground. At the very last moment, the white haired Fae twisted to land on his back with Aelin atop him. Grunting, Rowan opened his green eyes and saw only darkness. He tried to move—to get up and escape—but black tendrils lashed out and pinned down his four limbs. His heart stuttered in his chest painfully. He struggled and called upon his winds, but they couldn't break through the black barrier surrounding them.

"Hello, Rowan," Maeve purred, standing a few feet away from him. Her back was straight and her pose relaxed. A smile graced her lips and she looked almost peaceful as she gazed down at him. Cocking her head to the side, her violet eyes surveyed him coolly, "Thought you could steal from me, did you?" Her eyes flickered over to Aelin's unconcious form, just by Rowan's side. A muscle in Maeve's upper lip twitched, the only sign of emotion on the ancient Fae's face. "What perfect timing," she began, slowly walking closer to them. She was like a spider, a giant spider, with poison dripping from her fangs as she stalked the bugs caught in her web. "I've been growing bored."

"You bitch!" Rowan snarled, his fangs barred as he struggled against the darkness. "If you touch her, I'll—"

" _Silence_ , you simple prince!" Maeve's eyes flashed with anger. Clucking her tongue, she mocked, " _If you touch her'_ —haven't you been paying attention?" She gestured at Aelin, at her marred back. Blinking slowly, Maeve reigned in her anger and smirked, "Fear not, I won't be touching _her_. Not today anyway. I have something much better in mind … once she wakes up." Rowan was suddenly immensely grateful for Aelin's unconscious state. If she could be spared for a just a bit longer—if Rowan could just break free of Maeve's magical hold . . .

"You, though," Maeve continued, "you're going to help me."

"Like hell," Rowan bit out, his back arching off the ground in his efforts to escape.

"Oh yes, whether you want to or not," Maeve cooed, stepping closer still. Rowan titled his head to look at Aelin. He needed to think. He needed to get Aelin out of here. Away from Maeve. He thought he saw her brow twitch, and his heart stopped. _No_ , he thought, _don't wake up. Don't wake up!_

Maeve knelt down next to Rowan, running her fingers through his white hair. It would have been comforting, had it come from anyone else. "You're exactly what I need. I've nearly broken Brannon's heir," she taunted. "I've stifled her magic, broken her body … and now that I have you?" She leaned in and whispered into his ear, "Now I can finally break her _spirit_."

Aelin woke up.

She awoke with a scream tearing its way up throat and out her mouth. She screamed and screamed as wave after wave of fire erupted from her, pulsating outwards towards the dome of darkness surrounding them. The tendrils holding Rowan's arms and legs disappeared, freeing him just in time for him to shield his face from the onslaught of light. Struggling to his knees, Rowan crawled towards his mate. He needed to help her. This magic—this fire—it was too much, too fast. It'd consume her. "Aelin!" He yelled over the screams.

Aelin's eyes were open, staring blankly upwards at the dark dome that had begun to crack under her fire. They weren't her, though. Aelin's Ashryver eyes—the eyes Rowan loved so dearly—weren't there. Her blue and golden eyes were gone, and clouded white ones remained. "Aelin!" He yelled again, trying to reach her over the magic's thrall.

The screaming continued, but the male Fae quickly realized they were no longer coming from his queen, but from the queen behind him. Maeve was hunched over, her eyes as dark as her magic, as she sent barrages of her darkness towards Aelin. Aelin's fire beat the black tendrils and walls away. Everything around her burned—her scraps of clothing, the grass at her feet, even the ends of her hair were smoking.

Aelin stood up, not a wince or a hiss from her, even though her body must have been in agonizing pain, and she stepped towards Maeve. Maeve howled and took her own step forward, bringing with her all the magic stored up in her ancient body. The battle around them came to a halt as the two queens approached one another; one surrounded by golden, glowing flames and the other surrounded by billowing, swirling darkness. Maeve released one final before summoning a tidal wave of darkness and crashing it down upon the Heir of Fire. Aelin disappeared under the flood of darkness and Rowan's heart stopped. "No," he whispered, "No, no, no, no—" Maeve cackled in triumph, throwing her head back with untamed glee.

A small light flickered from behind the wall of darkness, and with a shattering crack, millions of black shards catapulted outwards from Aelins unharmed body. She stood there, amidst her ever growing flames, her dull white eyes focused on nothing but the dark haired queen in front of her. Swallowing, Rowan watched with morbid fascination. Whatever was happening to his mate, he'd never seen it before. She wasn't caught up in her magic, and she wasn't possessed by some invisible deity. Rowan didn't understand what was happening, nor did he have much time to think about it.

Surging forward, Aelin moved with all the grace of the Assassin of Adarlan and attacked Maeve. Wrapping a burning hand around Maeve's thin, white neck—Maeve screamed and flailed, trying to escape the flame—Aelin pulled her down so they were eye to eye. "Think you can break me now, Aunt?" Aelin growled, her canines barred. Her voice echoed throughout the battle field, above the terrible howls coming from Maeve. Clenching her fist, Aelin's fire pulsated from her core, up her arm, and to her hand where she held Maeve. Maeve screamed and screamed until the fire burned through her vocal chords, then she flailed and spasmed until the flame melted her spinal cord and her head fell from her shoulders with a sickening, yet satisfying thump.

Rowan stared, slack jawed, at his mate. He'd seen her kill, but not like this. "Aelin," he whispered hoarsely, slowly getting to his feet. Aelin's fire continued to burn, and threatened to spread out towards the forests surrounding them. At this rate, if she didn't stop then the entire world would burn, too. Taking a hesitant step forward, Rowan called out, "Aelin." Aelin blinked, and some of the white fog covering her eyes lifted. She shifted her gaze, searching him out. When she found him she blinked again, and again. Color seeped back into her iris's with each blink.

"Fireheart."

The flames receded, slowly folding in on themselves until only smoke was left. Aelin stared at him, her eyes unfocused. Taking a step forward, she gasped, "Buzzard." Then her eyes closed once more, and didn't open again.

Rowan was halfway to her when she fell, and with the help of his winds, caught her before shit hit the ground. Mindful of her back, Rowan laid her down on her side and checked her pulse. His hands were shaking slightly, but he could feel it—the steady beat of her heart. Letting loose a shuddering sigh, Rowan pulled her close to his chest and began rocking back and forth. He didn't know what just happened, nor did he know if it would happen again once Aelin awoke, but Maeve was dead and Aelin was alive. For Rowan, that was enough.

 **A/N: Please let me know what you thought. I'm kinda sleepy at the moment so idk if this is any good so validation would be much appreciated.**


	2. Chapter 2

Rowan had thought that after finding Aelin-after _finally_ getting her back, defeating Maeve, killing Cairn-everything would get easier. Everything would be a downhill battle from there on out.

Rowan had never been so wrong in his entire life.

Aelin was with him again, healing and resting and alive. She was _alive_. Not a day would go by that Rowan wouldn't thank the gods for that fact. but something was wrong. Aelin was alive . . . but she wasn't living. At first, Rowan had thought it was because of what Maeve had done to her. And he know that was part of it, but he also knew it wasn't all of it, either. Fingers clenching into fists, Rowan had to release a shaky breath. Thoughts of Maeve still made his blood boil with rage. Sometimes he found himself wishing that his old mistress was still alive-if only to tear her apart with his bare hands.

Aelin whimpered in her sleep, snapping Rowan sharply back into the present.

Reaching out to place a gentle hand on her brow, he checked her temperature for the fifth time that day. It had gone down over the past few days, but was still hotter than usual. Summoning a breeze, he tried keeping her body cool. This, at least, he understood. Aelin's back, which had been torn open and open again by Cairn, had become infected due to the conditions she'd been forced to live in. And even with her Fae heritage to stave off the worst of it, not even that could completely protect her from the wreaked her body. Thankfully, Gavriel was an amazing healer and had done wonders cleaning the infected areas and keeping her hydrated and her fever down. It was because of the Lion of Doranelle that Aelin could be awake and conscious for more than half the day.

A shadow passed over Rowan's face. Aelin was awake . . . but wasn't. Her eyes would be open, yes, and she'd respond to her name, but mostly she just stared, unseeingly, at whatever was in front of her. She hadn't spoken, hadn't laughed, hadn't cracked a smile since the two mates had reunited. Rowan would give _anything_ just to hear her call him _buzzard_ again. Rowan didn't understand it. No one did. Rowan couldn't explain it. No one could. Gavriel had suggested heading to the Southern continent-bring her to its famous healers. Rowan wasn't sure they could help.

Aelin's body shuddered once, then without warning, she began convulsing on their bed. Mouth opening in a silent scream, Aelin tried to fight her way out of whatever nightmare was plaguing her. Holding her down by her shoulders, Rowan kept a steady stream of air inflating and deflating her lungs. Once, a few nights ago, she stopped breathing during an episode similar to this. Rowan's blood had turned ice cold and his heart had stopped. He didn't know what caused her lungs to give out then, but their failure was something he wouldn't allow a second time.

It were nights like these that had him wishing for the days when he woke up to find their bed on fire, but ever since the abduction, Aelin's nightmares had turned inward and tormented only her. She no longer called out, either. She used to. Before, she used to call out to Rowan in her sleep. Now her mouth would open, but no scream and no name would pour out.

"Aelin," he called. He was so close now that his breath fanned her face and blew some hair from her face. Her back arched and he climbed atop her to keep her from flailing off the bed. " _Aelin_ ," he called again, his voice breaking as he begged for her to hear him. "Fireheart, _please_ , wake up!"

Aelin's eyes snapped open and her breathing evened out. "Fireheart?" He pressed his forehead to hers, beseeching her to see him. "Aelin?" She blinked once. Twice. Thrice. Her body began to tremble and her eyes darted around the room frantically. Small, pathetic noises escaped her mouth and with every inhale he took, Rowan could smell her fear. "Shh, shh," he soothed, bringing a hand up to cup her cheek. "It's okay, Aelin. It's okay. You're safe. It's okay."

Her eyes locked onto his, staring deeply into their green depths, and she seemed to find some comfort there because the small noises escaping her ceased and the trembling lessened. Kissing the side of her brow, Rowan whispered into her ear. "You're safe, Aelin. Fireheart. It's okay. Everything is going to be okay." Pulling back to look into her eyes again, Rowan's heart faltered. A dull glaze had fallen over them like a veil as she stared blankly up at the room's ceiling. Burrowing into the crook of her neck, he repeated, "Everything is going to be okay," but this time, he didn't know if he was saying it to her . . . or to himself.


End file.
